You could have knocked me over with a feather, but not an egg

So I’m at this party, where I haven’t met anyone except my host, but as the conversations turn, I discover that I’m talking to the sister-in-law of the people who used to own the house I now own (Her: so what do you use that upstairs room for? Me: I just got a window installed, and any day we’ll get my desk moved up there and it will be my garret. Her: Oh.), so you could say my night was very Adelaide except that on the way there, someone threw an egg at my car.

What is it with egg throwing!!??? I walk to work and along the way I often see dried egg and broken shells on the footpaths along the Parade, at Norwood. I love the idea of a garrett. Your own personal private hideaway, to blog or read undisturbed….

I sometimes firmly believe rellies don’t come to see me, they come to see the house. It’s enough to make you chuck them a set of keys. As if any of us would give two figs what one uses an upstairs room for – how does it reduce Third World debt, or put the brakes on climate change? Bad luck you didn’t meet anyone more inneresting.

As this post can only really be appreciated by an Austrailian I guessing you should have said you plan to use the room to store your fur coats off season? That you needed a place to throw your Bentley keys? Or, perhaps, that you plan to start weaving your own fabric for the children’s clothing…

Oops – just spotted my own appalling typos up there and had to do a useless mea culpa just to reassure you that I haven’t utterly lost my faculties and forgotten how to spell. Just how to type, apparently. And proofread …